


Coming to an Understanding

by Corilyn_Winchester



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Barney Barton is not always an asshole, Canonical Child Abuse, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, He's just confused too, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Improper treatment of a disabled child, Its probably bad, Medical Inaccuracies, Russian from my memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 12,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corilyn_Winchester/pseuds/Corilyn_Winchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Clint Barton, and today I turn 9. I can read little books, not more than a few words per page, and I can count to 100. I am stupid.</p><p>My name is Clint Barton, I turn 25 today and I know that how I learned to view the world was wrong. You see, I wasn't stupid, I was and still am, deaf. If they would have realized this before I was 17, then I could have been educated correctly. I wouldn't have spent all that time thinking I was retarded, I could have been smart. I might not be a murderer.</p><p> </p><p>Rating for child abuse and language.Educational inaccuracies abound. Not beta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 9

     My name is Clint Barton. I am 9 years old today. I can write all my letters and count to 100. The only people that smiled at me are the 2 teachers for my special class at school. There are only 6 of us. Retarded kids. That's what we are.

     All I want for my birthday is to not be stupid anymore. I know how to read, I was in kindergarten when I forgot how to understand people. When I got stupid?

     They don't know what's wrong with me. Why I don't talk much and when I do it doesn't work. I used to be smart. Now people frown and look sad when I try to tell them what's wrong with me. I'm retaded but I know what's wrong with me. I know better than Miss Tina and Miss Claire.

     I'd tell them if they showed me how.

     I'd tell them I couldn't understand them. If only they could understand me. 

 


	2. 10

     We ran away last week. Joined the circus. I am 10, and still stupid. The ringmaster glared when we asked if we could join them, my brother and me. The man with the bow slapped me, I think he told me to do something but I didn't understand him. 

     I am 10 years old and I still don't understand people. They still don't understand me. Maybe this is what retarded is, all stuck in your head. Maybe II've always been stupid, even when I was little and thought I was smart.


	3. 11

     I am 11. I follow every move that the bowman does. I hit the target. He smiles. I am good at following along. I think I'm even stupider now. Barney gets upset when I try to say my name now. 

     I don't know what he's yelling, just that he is. If he yells at me slow I might undstand him.

Why can't I understand?

I just want my brain back. 


	4. Almost 15( so 14 still)

     I am 15 tommrow. I killed a man today. He was BAD GUY. The bow man is happy that I can still read.  That I know what that means.

     I don't speak anymore. I point or write simple words. I still don't know what people say to me. It's like I'm missing something.

     I took a life today. Put an arrow through his head. Right through his eye, bullseye.

     I remember how to talk, but all it does is make people angry when I do.

     I want to yell. Scream and shout. Tell them that all I want to be is not to be stupid. But instead I keep quiet. I don't say anything. I follow and I shoot. The two things that I am good at.


	5. 15 and 3/4

   I am 3 months from my 16th birthday. I learn, just not like other people.

   Today I learned what I am. Why I'm retarded. A lady came to see the circus with her kids. They liked my show. They talked with their hands, I've nev seen it before, but I knew it was talking. The lady came up to me with her kids. So I showed her the note that Barney wrote for me to show people:

I don't understand you, I'm retarded. I'm sorry if I offended you. If you need to tell me something, I can read little words and write them too.

     The lady pulls out a pen and writes on her hand;

You hear me talk?

     It takes a second, but I know what it means. Those are all words from before I got stupid. I shake my head. Retarded kids don't hear I guess, if the others in my old class did, they didn't act like it.

     The lady grabs my hand, and she pulls me toward Carson, the in charge man.

     They talk for a very long time, she points at me andthe whole time her face is moving her hands are too. She talks two ways. Her kids gesture back and forth behind her. She wrote on my hand as she went to leave :

Deaf.

The word for my stupid.


	6. Still 15 and 3/4

     Its been 3 days since I saw the lady talking with her hands and the bruises that cover my body are healed enough so that I can move without it hurting too bad. I know how to get to the library in this town, Barney took me to get a new book a few days ago and we'll be in this town for another 4 days. A left at the blue building, a right at the red. Two corners down. Library, where people who aren't stupid can learn anything.

     I was careful, the marker on my hand is still showing. I may not understand people and they may not understand me, but I found out that if I showed people words on paper, always little words, then they could help me. I copy the letter on my hand onto one of the little slips of paper at the library desk, and I hand the library my note (the one I made):

Deaf. Talk with hands book please.

     The old lady stands up and I follow her. She pulls out a book from one of the white shelves.

_The Basic Signs._

     I take the book and find a corner on the carpet. By the time I leave I can say the alphabet with my hands, and I take the book with me. I walk back to where the circus is set up this time around and slip into me and Barney's trailer. I say my name with my fingers over and over.

    Maybe people talk with their fingers because they are too stupid to talk with their mouths? But the lady didn't seem stupid, she talked to Carson. Maybe the lady will come back and I can talk to her.

Maybe she'll understand me.


	7. 17

     I tuned 17 last week. I'm sitting in jail. But maybe someone here can talk with their hands. I practice all the time, every town we stop in I get a new sign language book.  I know all the signs for all the words I can read. I can talk in easy words with my hands, and so can Barney a little bit. He doesn't know as much as me, but he knows all the letters so that's something I guess.

     They yell. I can see it on their faces. The cop is angry, but the suit man stays quiet.

     They realize I don't understand them. Suit man writes something and shows me:

What is your name?

     I can answer that with my hands, I hope he understands:

Hand to chest (my)

Two, 2 finger guns, cross and tap 2 times (name)

C-L-I-N-T (Should I say my last name too?)

B-A-R-T-O-N (Well I did.)

 

      I could have a little conversation with my hands. I know I could.

      He understands me. He sets his pen down and talks with his hands:

(My)

(Name)

P-H-I-L

C-O-U-L-S-O-N

      I could cry. Suit man (Phil Coulson I correct in my head) understood me. He talked with his hands.

      Maybe I can tell him that my stupid is called D-E-A-F. That I just miss understanding. That if you yell at me really loud and repeat yourself a few times I can figure it out.

 


	8. Still 17

     One week ago Phil got me from jail. We talked with our hands. Little words, always little words. Today I'm sitting on a bench, my feet dangling off above the ground. Phil sits right in front of me, watching how I look around. I tell him why I look around. I-See-To-Follow-Best. He nods.

     Phil is the first person since I got retarded that understands me. Maybe I'm not as stupid as Miss Tina thought? Smart people learn from the library. I learned to talk again from the library.

 


	9. Still 17 (part b)

      Its been 2 weeks since Phil took me from jail. He told me that he helped me because I deserved it, because I was worth something. I ask what I do good, I can't even talk with my mouth, only my hands. He tells me that someone who shoots like me shouldn't spend their life in jail. Phil told me I wasn't stupid. He's the first one.

      I'm in the doctor's office again. He puts something on my head, one on each ear. I squirm away, but he seems to get them where he wants them. He does something on a remote and Phil counts 3-2-1.

 

LOUD LOUD LOUD LOUD

_Loud?_


	10. 18

     I turn 18 today. When Phil says Happy Birthday to me I understand it. He says it with his voice not his hands.

     I understand people now. I still don't talk much, but I'm getting better. There's a man who's helping me get my voice back. He teaches me too press my tongue right, and push out certain letters to make the sounds I can hear now. When I say my name now, no one gets angry at me. Some people understand me, when I talk with my fingers and hands now. I'm learning big words. I'm reading a chapter book.

     Phil tells me I was never stupid. That me understanding now isn't because I got my brain back. Its because I got back what I was missing for so long, I was right. I didn't have all the pieces to the puzzle that was people talking. I practice talking when no one is around, I read my book out loud to myself when I'm alone. 


	11. 19

     I am 19 years old and now I know. I know that I was never stupid. There's a word for what I am. _Disabled_. Not stupid, not retarded. Phil and Maria still talk to me with their hands, but now I mostly understand anything that people say to me. I've learned more since I got here then I had in the 8 years before. I can do math, and apparently I'm really good at it, and I'm reading a book from the young adult section now, its called _Harry Potter._  I'm still way behind, but I'm getting there. The things on my head are my hearing aids. I have 2 pairs now. The little ones that go in my ears for whenever I'm exercising or on the range(no one here can shoot as well as me). And the bigger ones that I wear when I'm doing other things. I talk now.

     My voice is messed up. They call it a speech impediment, but as long as I keep working as hard as I can, it might go away eventually, or at least get not so bad. According to Phil, people like me, deaf people, none of us really talk right. We talk our special way, and it's fine if all I ever talk like is this, I'm still useful. He won't hit me, I know he won't, he never has. And I'm not going to get kicked out back to jail if I can't get my voice to sound like a normal persons. But that doesn't mean that I don't want it to. I can talk like a normal person. I'll prove it.


	12. Still 19

    I'm still 19, but today I'm getting on a plane. I'm going to Iowa this weekend. Miss Tina still works at the school in the same town as the boys home me and Barney landed at and Phil said it would be a good thing for me to go and talk to her, since its still hard for me to get that I'm not retarded, so it'd be good to talk to the person who said I was.

     When I get to Iowa I walk past the boys home, and I'm tempted to stop and tell them that I did what they said I never could do. But I keep walking, the 3 blocks to the 4 story building that is the school. I walk into the office. I'm not nervous about talking to people anymore, Phil and Maria make me talk now, and I can't say that I don't know the words any more. They know that I do. 

     "Hello, I'm here to see Miss Tina." My voice is still messed up, but not as much. I still swallow letters sometimes, but I sound almost normal.

     "Are you the new Assistant teacher?" I have my over ear hearing aids on, I don't want to lose my tiny ones.

     "No, I'm actually one of her former students." I feel myself miss the 'r' in former. And I might have screwed up 'actually' but whatever.

     "Oh, alright. Here, lets get you a visitors pass and you can head over. She's in the same room as always, will you need help finding it?" She hands me a yellow sticker and pen to write my name with.

     "No, I remember where it is." I put the sticker on my chest and hand her back the pen. "Thank you." And I leave and walk to where Miss Tina's room is.

     The door is unlocked so I walk right in. There's 10 kids now, one of them is off to the side using sign to rapidly repeat 'play.play.play.' she looks to be about 8 years old, to a lady I don't recognize. Miss Tina is making a sandwich at the counter, and I slowly walk towards her. 

     "Hello, may I help you? Are you the new AT?" Apparently this school is waiting for a male assistant teacher. 

      "Uh, I was one of your students, 10, about, years ago." Another swallowed 'r'.

      "Oh really? Well I always remember all my students....Clint?" She looks at the name tag and thinks for a moment. "You are that little unresponsive boy. Wow, you are doing great."

      "I'm not...special." I didn't want any of the kids to hear me say the word that ran my life for so long, and kind of still does.

      "Well of course you are silly." She still thinks I'm stupid.

     "My brain works fine, normal. My ears are broken." She finishes making the sandwich and places it on the counter in front of a boy, blond, green eyes, head lolling back and forth. "I'm not...I don't have a learning problem." Now that I understand people, I learn really fast.

     "Its amazing that you're talking now." Except that I can _feel_ my speech impediment. "Who managed to unlock you?" 

     "I'm not stupid." I whisper the word so quiet I can't hear it. "I'm deaf." Its not the word for my stupid, its the name of my disability. My ears don't work quite right, that's all it means. "And I 'unlocked' myself." I air quote the word she used. I learned to talk with my hands.

     "Well that's, impossible. You had to have been tested before you were transferred to my class."

     "I hit my head really hard when I was little, that's how my ears got broken. I don't remember getting tested, so it musta' happened close to that, so I probably really confused, 'cuz I couldn't understand anyone anymore and I was probably really dizzy 'cuz that's what happens when you screw up your inner ears." The doctor that Phil had look at me, he told me that my hearing loss came from getting slammed in the head too hard. He'd shown me pictures of the little broken bones, the fractures that stole my sound. "I'm not-" I use my fingers to spell out R-E-T-A-R-D-E-D. "I am disabled, just not in that way."

     "Why are you here Clint? To tell me I ruined some kids life?" She looks busy, but I don't regret coming.

     "No, you told me happy birthday when I turned 9. You smiled at me." I shrug a bit. "So, thank you.I stole a book a few years ago, I taught myself how to sign all the words I knew. I'm doing a lot better now. I can understand." That's all I ever wanted to say to her, that I could understand, and now I do.

      "You...taught yourself sign language?"

      "Just the basics, and not very well, 'cuz I looked at the pictures in the book and sometimes they were confusing." She understands me, slanted speech and all.

      "Oh Clint, I'm so sorry. This is...this is something you only hear about on TV and books. It never happens, but...it did."

      "I 's okay." Dammit I missed a T (Phil told me to stop picking up cuss words, but I like them). " It all worked out. You didn't call me special-the person who did the test did. The whole year I was in this town, in this class, all I wanted was for you and Miss Claire to understand me. For me to be able to understand you. And now I can." I reach up and adjust my left hearing aid, its starting to slip and will produce the feedback that I hate if I don't fix it soon.

      "I still can't believe you're verbal now, and you hardly sound deaf." I work really hard to not sound deaf.

      "Thanks. And I'm good now, got a job and everything." I will graduate from the SHIELD Operations Academy in the late summer. "I'm actually training for a new position right now."

       "Really? What type of job?" I know I can't tell her the truth, but that's not a problem. Covers and interrogation is my best subject.

       "Government work. I'm a sign language interpreter." All lies are buried in truth. And its actually a position that's I'd done before. Both Maria and Phil had been off base on missions when a recovery team had pulled in a middle aged guy who only knew sign language. The agents only knew the basics, but they knew I was on campus, so they called over to the Academy (I was in tactics class) and asked to have me go down to the interview level. I'd translated for 3 hours. That was six months ago.

       "Wow. Good for you Clint." And then I realize that when I said what job I had, there had been no missing letters or slurred vowels.


	13. 20

I am 20 years old and I got my badge today. I am officially a Level 1 SHIELD Agent. I barely slur now if I pay attention.


	14. Barney (the funeral)

     It's Barney's funeral tonight. I lived in silence for so long that its comfortable sometimes, like today. My hearing aids are in my jacket pocket, left on the passengers seat of my car. I drive really well, can even fly a plane.

      Carson is here, off to the side, studiously avoiding me, he waved in the way that I recognize now as being special to people who look down on the retarded. He eventually hands me a piece of paper, on it a simple word:

Sorry.

     I dig in my pockets for a second, Carson probably thinks I'm looking for a pen, but really I'm pulling my car keys out. I might hate talking when I can't hear myself, but that doesn't mean I can't.

    "Follow?" I try to judge my volume, keep it respectably low. I dangle the keys from my finger and Carson nods, shock evident on his face at hearing my voice (I hope I didn't slur). 

     I unlock the door and search through my jacket pockets for the little clear case, Carson standing near the back bumper as I clip my ears into place (the big ones people can see). "Okay, all fixed, I um...I talk now, obviously." I re-lock the car door and lean against it. 

     "She...was right? Oh God kid, you are deaf." He stumbles over his words worse than I do in the morning.

     "Yeah, mostly. It's okay, I'm not stupid either, just uneducated, stems from improper diagnosis of my disability as a child." My voice sounds right, all my letters in their places, clear and solid.

    "I am so sorry, about your brother and how we treated you, we all though..." And then his arms are wrapped around me. My eyes are watering, he may have hated having to drag me around and treated me like the idiot I was then, but Barney was my brother.

     "Its okay, knowing someone else will miss him is enough." And I return the hug.

    Barney's tombstone is flat into the ground, a plate of copper that reads:

         In loving memory of:

         Bernard "Barney" Barton

         Proud circus freak 

    And

       Older brother

I scratch an arrow into the metal with my pocket knife, right next to the word brother.


	15. 21

     Three days ago I got back from a mission that went sideways. I limp towards the door of my bunk, the boot on my foot helping but not reducing the pain from my broken ankle much at all. Phil is standing in the doorway when I open it, and he's holding a stack of books. He walks in once I move out of the way and turns so I can understand what he's saying.

     "So, it's come to my attention that any agent level 5 or above must have at least a secondary language certification. Most agents start working on that while in the academy, the only reason it hasn't come up before is because of your situation." I had enough issues with English.

     "So, once I hit level 4 I'm stuck?" I glance at the books, the titles are in weird letters that I recognize but can't label. I lean against the doorframe and groan slightly at the movement, bruised ribs protesting.

     "Unless you learn another language? Probably. I was going to put down ASL for your secondary, but Fury said it didn't count." He grabs the top book and tosses it at me where I'm walking to the desk, he knows I'll catch it. "So, Russian. I'm fluent, a bunch of agents are. Lots of people to help with the vocal side of things." Even though I don't hear all of the sounds in words, I can usually copy them fairly well as long as I  have some idea of what is being said. 

     "Phil...there's still words in English I can't say right." Long words and double sounds are sometimes a problem if I don't focus.

     "There are words in English no one can say, just do me a favor and try alright? Even if you can only read and write, it counts. You need an upped security clearance." I look at the cover and honestly it doesn't look half bad and I've been looking for a new subject to throw myself at. "If you still can't say any of the words once your back on active, then we'll look into something else. I have missions that you'd be perfect for that I'm having to pass off to other handlers because my sniper doesn't have the clearance."

     "I'll try okay?" I stick my foot up on the desk and grab a piece of paper and a pen from the stack. "Can I make notes in these?"

     "Go for it. Thank you for at least attempting." I look at the book like its a challenge, I always do better when it's a challenge.

     "Specyba?" Phil's eyes light up as I try to say the phonetic of the first chapter vocab word, the page I flipped to first.

     "That was fine on the pronunciation. You're smart. It'll come to you."


	16. 21 Still

     It takes six weeks for medical to clear me, and by then I can say almost 100 words in Russian and read anything written in Cyrillic. Phil has gotten into the habit of leaving me notes in Russian and making me translate them. I think my name looks cool in the letters.


	17. 22

     I am 22 years old and my security clearance got bumped to level 3. I skipped two all together, my range and course scores above the threshold for even the highest level specialist.


	18. 23

I turn 23 years old today and my present to myself is my favorite novels in Russian. One Day in the Life is probably my absolute favorite book over all, in English or Russian, and it's nice to have it in the original language. It seems to have more of an impact in its native words. I learned fast once I got my tongue used to making the sounds. I have my test of Thursday for the verbal, they assume since I've gotten through all of the texts that I can read it as well. They're right.

     It was easier to learn Russian after I realized that even if I couldn't exactly hear the sounds, even with my hearing aids on full blast, I could still say them.  I just had to figure out what was being said in the blank space. That's why it took me so long to learn it, I've been able to read the words and know what they meant for months now, its just saying them that kept me from testing.


	19. 23 Again

     The red head is yelling but I can't tell what. She's Russian and God is she pretty. But my head is pounding and my hearing aids are dead. I've tried signing but the 2 broken knuckles ( and ew, that's gross, the bone is sticking out there) make it hard. She doesn't understand anyways.

 

Huh. Neither of us understand.

 


	20. Same day

     Her name is Natalia A. Romanova, but she's going my Natasha Romanoff, the same but different enough to be new.

     My left hand is in a cast now, three fingers and most of my forearm are covered in fiberglass. There's a screw holding the bone in my hand together (the one that was sticking out). I've got new batteries in and we can talk now. Her voice is pretty, even if she is calling me an idiot. This is the Black Widow, the mission they said no one could complete. I didn't take her out, I brought her in. That's why no one could finish it before, they were going at it the wrong way.

   Natasha Romanoff is easer to say than Natalia Romanova.


	21. Almost 24

     I hit level six the same day she gets released fro deconditioning with a level 3 badge and a haircut. We throw a party in my bunk room, just me, her and Coulson. No one says a single word in English and we all understand each other.

    I've been teaching her English slang in exchange for Russian curse words.

It works.


	22. 24

     Natasha asks me what happened to my ears 3 days after I turn 24.

\----

    "Clint, I've never asked, but why is your hearing so bad? Or has it just always been that way?" We're watching Animal Cops in my bunk. It would have been easy to lie, to say it was an explosion, or just always messed up.

    "Head injury as a child, broke some of the bones in there." I scratch at the scab on my arm from a rifle burn.

    "Fall out of a tree circus boy?" She makes jokes about my childhood, I call her a communist. It all works.

    "Got thrown into a table, or banister. Something, I don't remember." Her eyes widen and I shrug. I see no reason to lie to her.

     "Spy's don't come from happy lives." Its a little saying we have. She knows my father was an abusive drunk, I know that she had even less of a childhood than I did.

     "No, we definitely do not. 'cept Phil." Coulson came from a good background, and we could never figure it out. Speaking of him, Phil is due to start forcing another language on me in a few months, but with how things are going, he'll probably let me pick which. I'll choose something that Nat speaks, since she'll call me on my shitty pronunciation. 


	23. 26.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 months and 15 days is how long it takes to break Clint Barton.

     I am 26 and a half and I sound like I did 9 years ago. Anytime I try to speak in English it comes out messed up. My letters all out of order and not making sense, I'm swallowing letters and sounds, and full syllables. My 'l's and 'r's are gone and and other sounds too when I talk. No matter if I focus or not.

     I should explain how I backtracked so far. Almost 4 months ago, a month after Nat got shot, I got captured. It had only taken two and a half weeks for medical to clear me, and face it, I'm useful, so they sent me out. The people who captured me, a terrorist cell near the Syrian boarder, had thought my hearing aids were comms, so they destroyed them. So I'd spent the better part of 4 months hearing nothing but the muffled slam of doors and the murmur of voices. I'd repeated the information I was allowed to, but they blind folded me, so I had no clue what they were saying. I didn't even know what language they were questioning me in. 

    Natasha and Coulson had shown up 3 months and 15 days after I was captured. I'd been tortured, they'd tried to get me to give up information, they'd only taken the mask off a few times, and usually only to try and scare me by letting me see what they were going to do to me next. When Coulson pulled the bag off my head I jerked and tried to struggled before I recognized him.

     "Phil?" I try to say but his face and Natasha's show that was so far off its indecipherable, probably sounded like a garbled mumble. Nat had the foresight to bring my spare hearing aids with them and she carefully shows them to me and once my hands are untied she hands them over. 

    "Clint, look at me. Try to focus your eyes." I couldn't get my eyes to stay still, everything pulsing in and out. The bag hadn't been completely solid, so the faint light in the room doesn't hurt, but I still can't focus.

   "Trying." I try to say, bringing my hands together, but I know the broken fingers make signing a no go. 

     "Look at me, did you get hit in the head recently?" I nod, knowing not to trust my voice. "Medical is on the way. We'll do yes or no questions, okay?" Another nod. "Okay, are all the words in my sentences making sense?" I nod, even if its not 100% true. His voice is clear, but I'm losing it in the other sounds, the door squeak, my own pained hiss when Natasha presses against a particularly sore part of my chest. "Good. Are you dizzy?" I give a mix of yes and no. I'm not exactly dizzy, but I knew that as soon as I tried to move I would be. " I need you to try and say your name, best as you can, easy right?" He's trying to find out if I degraded because I'd been quiet for so long or because of something else. Something worse.

     "Clisht Bahtn." I close my eyes. This is all way too familiar to me. The inability to say my own fucking name correctly. I must look terrified because Natasha quickly squeezes my left shoulder. 

     "It's okay, if you're understanding me then you are okay." I nod again, trying and failing at not panicking, as a medical team enters the room. "Yes or no questions only. Don't expect verbal responses." I am incredibly thankful that Natasha and Phil were the ones who found me.  


	24. 26.5 B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not as bad as it could be.
> 
> That doesn't mean its good.

     Medical and psych release me from the hospital section of base after a week. Honestly, the torture and capture isn't what bothered me the most. I mean, of course I'm not 100%, or anywhere near it, but its still my inability to talk that's causing me nightmares. I give my full report in writing, since verbal isn't going to happen. Luckily, the three broken fingers are on my right hand, so a pen isn't a problem.

     Medically, I wasn't as bad off as expected. A few broken ribs had healed wrong, but not bad enough that they needed to fix them surgically, and the same for a hairline fracture in my left wrist, it had healed completely in the time I was captive. I have three broken fingers, more lacerations and contusions and new scars than could be counted (although all were cataloged) some still healing rib fractures and a dislocated knee cap that was a bitch to put back into alignment and is now being held in place by a brace that doesn't allow my leg to bend almost at all. The most worrisome is the head injury. Not only am I currently concussed, but there's evidence of at least one other concussion, and they still don't really know why I can't talk right. 

    The fact that 12 days after I get back, so 3 days ago, I stumble stepped and out of reflex cursed in Russian and Nat's head snapped up because it sounded right? Well that's an issue. The speech therapist thought it was interesting.

     "Let's try something. Respond in Russian, don't think about it, just switch." I nod, following the train of thought. "Pri'viet, kak de lah?" _Hi, how are you?_

"Ispuganyi, kak naschet vas?" _Scared, what about you?_ I respond easily and then realize what happened. There was only one swallowed sound.

     "Interesting. The MRI that proved the reason for your hearing loss showed some damage to parts of your brain as well, specifically the areas associated with language processing. It disrupted the neurons, which is why when your initial injury happened your speech degraded so quickly." I knew this already, the neurons had had to rewire, and without auditory input, or even just trying to talk more than I had, they hadn't. It was when I finally started speaking (and hearing) again, after pretty much 13 years of struggling to say my own name, it was easier to copy sounds in words I hadn't known before, but easy words; cat, dog, school, things like that, had been harder to pronounce. "I think that your recent head injury might have re-broken these connections, or at least damaged them." he digs around in his desk for a moment. "Here, read the top line out loud."

     "Jaguar, spectacular, driver." I know I say them all wrong, but not as badly as they could have been. I know what noises they make, I just can't get them to come out in order. He makes a note.

     "Now try line 16." I flip the page to line 16.

     "Milk, cat, dollar." They mess up more than the others. I can tell, none of them are even close to right.

     "We need to get you in for an MRI. Like last week." And I'm being shuffled from the office (every three days it's a different person that uses it, an eye doctor, a dentist, an audiologist, the speech therapist, a prosthesis guy. There's like 10 different people) down to the main medical floor. I'm shoved into a giant magnet, hearing aids safely outside in the observation booth with Coulson. He'd come when he saw me getting prepped, since he'd been doing the intake on a new agent.

   The MRI shows that the speech therapist was right. I have brain damage, they didn't look at first, because they were just looking to make sure I wasn't bleeding in my brain, and there's documented damage from before, in the same area of my head. It's not a lot, but brains are weird like that. Its enough that it's affecting my ability to match what I'm trying to say with my mouth. It looks to have only really affected the area of my brain that was already damaged previously, which seems to be why its easier to Russian words, or more advanced English, since they weren't destroyed before. They call it a TBI. A traumatic brain injury. 

     Apparently its back to basics for me. But I've beat this before, and I'll relearn it again. Just the next big challenge. 


	25. Very nearly 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes....wow its been forever. Please don't murder me.

Natasha has been a huge help these past 6 months. Both with just getting used to speaking against and with trying to get the words, their sounds and what they mean all back. Spanish and Russian came back a lot faster than English, I’ll look at a word and be able to picture it, but for the life of me I won’t be able to say it. It’s frustrating, but I’m working through it, and this time...I know it’s not that I’m just too slow to talk, I know that I’m just...hurt and healing.

Since then most of the words have come back to me. Today I actually have my communicator test to get back into the field, I’m nervous but not as much as I could be, or as much as I was the first time, way back when. Most of the agents that have the same injury type I had are out of the field for at least 18 months, if they come back at all, but...mine wasn’t that bad and forcing myself to learn the letters, the sounds, Natasha commenting on my pronunciation when she was around and sending me tongue twisters when she wasn’t, wasn’t all that hard. I’d done it before, with way less support (Phil was there the first time, he knows).

The test was to relay commands through a comm link, and reading some of the most random things I’ve seen strung together. They had to understand me, just as much as I had to learn to understand them before. 

I passed. My name was no longer highlighted in red on the duty roster. I’d only screwed up 3 times, but since certain words never had came out of my mouth correct, it wasn’t a reason for my to fail. Somethings that I say still sound messed up, but I can claim that it’s just what they call my ‘speech impediment’ acting up,instead of a lasting symptom of my brain damage. Nat just says I have an accent, like she used to. 

I’m still the best marksman SHIELD has ever seen, probably the best in the world.I may not be smart, but I am determined. I’m 26 years old, roughly 80% deaf, and the best damned sniper the world has ever seen. I’m not ever going to be qualified as a ‘smart guy, but I’m not retarded either, not slow. I’ve fought my way through 2 brain injuries, and both were apparently bad enough to break some pretty damn important connections. But here I am. 


	26. 27

  

The first OP I run with Sitwell is actually the first part of the New Mexico mission. Jasper Sitwell as a person? Great, hilarious and incredibly good at picking restaurants and books. But as a handler? In a word: horrendous.

“Hawkeye do a perimeter sweep.” There’s the thing, I might have been out of the field for 7 months, but I’m 27 and I’ve been at this for a decade. Hell, I’ve been with SHIELD longer than some of the other handlers and definitely longer than a lot of the field agents. I know what to do, but that isn’t how Sitwell runs his OPs. He step by steps, instead of just letting his guys do their jobs. 

“Nothin’ there.” I did a sweep not 10 seconds before he told me too. 

“Speak up.” That’s the other thing, Sitwell doesn’t compensate for my volume (it has a tendency to change up and down fairly dramatically on comms). 

“Nothing there.” I say it a bit louder, still a whisper.

“Good.” Maybe I’m just irritated but he’s pissing me off. I’d gotten stuck on a word that morning and it’d taken a good 15 minutes to convince Sitwell not to send me away and pull in one of the new snipers that had just gotten his level 4, a guy named Ward. It wasn’t that I couldn’t remember the word, or that I was having an issue communicating, it was that I just couldn’t say it, and the pronunciation was so similar between what I said and what I wanted to say that I didn’t even know I was wrong until he pointed it out. 15 minutes to prove that yes, I did pass all my evaluations and I am cleared and ready to go back out on OP.

There’s a reason I run with Coulson and Nat, not other handlers or support agents. They don’t get it, and I know my teams voices so well that even if I can’t tell what they’re saying I can at least tell when they’re talking and who is saying what. STRIKE team Delta is important, and we are a team of 3. They thought they might have to nix the team when I got hurt, but now I’m officially back and the team is on active full status again. 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I can’t or won’t run OPs under other handlers or with other agents, its just easier and I don’t have to explain myself as much. Or at all honestly. Phil and Nat don’t need a full essay on the three ways I mess up words, all they need is a nod and a confirmation that yes, I am okay and it’s not a problem (medical has expressed concern about multiple concussion syndrome and other post-head injury issues).  


	27. Just a week later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear on my life I haven't forgotten about this one...its literally been completely written since I started posting and despite a few pages that got lost (since I paper write most of the time) and there is no excuse for how long this has taken.
> 
> Just as an fyi: this chapter was page 13 on my handwritten copy, of 24. Each page is double sided lined binder paper, and only the front is numbered...so theres a bit left.

     I found the absolute hardest 2 words to say: Tesseract and Mjolnir.

         I spent 3 hours trying to say Tesseract before Natasha came over and scribbled in Cyrillic on my notebook, the recording of Coulson saying the glow-y cube things name and the giant hammer is playing on repeat.

         "Tessehracht?" I jerk a little when I realize it worked. "The hell?" I'd broken it down and over enunciated and then one line of Russian and I said it.

         "It’s a language issue." Fuck. She's probably right.

         "God damnit." It's been a year since my capture, and I hadn't run into any language issues in over a month. "It's not a word I knew before though."

         "Yeah, but you had a lot of trouble with 'act', and its in that word." I still drag the 'a' out too long, but its better than it could be. "Maybe, if you're having trouble with a word…try it like its not English. Helped here." Slight mispronunciation doesn't bother me, adding 'h's' doesn't matter.

           "Tessehracht." Off the Cyrillic. "Tessy aut. Fucking English. Yeah, language issue. So from now on, we're assuming that's a Slavic word."

           "Try the other one." I write out the hammer one, Nat nodding in agreement at my phon-et-i-si-zation. Big word that one, lots of weird ass letters.

           "Mulnuh- yeah no."

           "Makes you feel any better, no one in R&D could say it for a week."


	28. Still 27 (it was a long year)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to skip the apologies and the excuses and get on with the chapter

          I am 27 when I lose my control. Until Natasha knocks the alien out of me that is. I'm lucky that neither of my ears were broken or lost while Loki had me, it would have been an issue if I was running silent in New York. During however, I had one short out and that plus the concussion was enough to have me dizzy but mostly confused.

          "You okay?" Natasha can probably tell that I'm about to collapse, the last 3 days catching up to me hard. No sleep in over 72 hours, a protein bar as all the food for that time, a heavy limp and careful breathing (the glass and a few of my ribs seem to be shifting if I fill my lungs too much).

         "Lopsided." I warn her, quietly, since its hard to judge my volume when half the input I'm getting is barely there and the other side is as clear as it gets. "I'm fine."

         "Stark wants to get food." I nod a little in response. "Clint, do you feel like you're about to pass out?" She's always so concerned, its actually adorable sometimes, so in contrast with her bad ass image.

         "Not about to. Soon though, heads...swimmy."

         "Then we'll get food with them. You need to see medical don't you?" She glances over me and I do the same to her.

         "What I need are my other ears." I'm focusing on the words, so I shouldn't be slurring, but its hard to tell. "You're bleedin' Tasha."

\---

       So we get the shawarma, and yeah that's going on the list of 'things Clint can't say'. I carefully place my leg behind Tasha and stop attempting to follow the conversation.

       "So --- of New York --- --- who --- to ---- -- --- --- the tower?" Luckily I happen to be facing Stark when he talks, so I get a few words of what he's saying.

       "Could you repeat that?" I think its at a decent volume.

       "Wanna stay at -- tower --- New York --- ----?" Normally I'm a pretty good lip reader, but I still can't get it all (especially since I'm fighting to focus).

       "Don' see why not." There's a few nods from others around the table, the hammer guy (Thor? I think), has a voice deep enough to pick out of the background.

       _Want to lean on me?_ Tasha signs discretely and I nod before pulling myself to my feet, left knee protesting its use when I go to step. Natasha slides under my left arm, knowing that my leg has stiffened since we sat down and will probably buckle if I put all my weight on it.

\-------------------------

Bruce Banner (the big angry green guy) is apparently medically qualified and that makes me happy. SHIELD medical is always so LOUD and confusing, especially if you're being submitted to the neuro testing due to a head injury.

        "Agent Barton, correct?" The only background noise is a light hum, so its easier to make out what he's saying.

        "Clint or Barton or Hawkeye, no agent please." I'm probably slurring by how he's looking at me.

        "For the life of me, I can't place you accent...Clint." Surprisingly, the question is actually common, people like to assume a foreign identity before the truth. "Okay so, what'd you hurt?" Huh, he dropped it. That's different.

        "Uh, hit my head...again. Few cracked ribs and I messed my knee up pretty good." I'm being lazy with my speech, cutting letters that I can do and disregarding the issue ones completely. Bruce raises and eyebrow and I sigh a little bit before pulling myself up onto the impromptu exam table.

       "How hard did you hit your head? Your speech is slurred, and that worries me." Oh, right that's a thing people do with head injuries.

       "Not that hard. My voice is just fucked up." During the fighting I'd been riding an adrenaline high and enunciating as well as I can, now though? Nat'd probably punch me for being so lazy, but she's not in the room but whatever.

       "Speech impediment?" He motions for me to take my shirt off after shining a pen light in my eyes.

       "Yeah, pretty much. Long as I can say my name fine...I'm fine." This is my first head injury since, and I was terrified until I was sure I was okay.

       "Other thing?" I groan as I unclip my Kevlar, the pressure off my ribs making them twinge.

       "Had a TBI about..15 months ago. And on top of...previous neurological damage....they called it a language processing disorder, that I've probably had since the first damage occurred, but was never diagnosed because of...situation." Bruce looks up from where he's examining a large gash on my bicep.

        "Wow. How bad?" I hiss as he presses on a particularly bad bruise.

        "Disconnection between words, their sounds and how they're written." I shrug slightly. "I couldn't even say my own name. How pathetic is that?"

        "Its not at all, you had a serious head injury and things happen. And for the record, I'm impressed. Also, glad that SHIELD didn't kick you to the curb because of it."

        "Eh, they weren't gonna let their best long range go when he stopped talking. Hell, didn't even know how to talk very much when they recruited me." Its crazy to think how long I spent basically mute.

        "Never in speech therapy as a kid?" God I wish it was that simple.

       "No. Wait...is my disability redacted? I know you have my file."

       "There's a lot that's redacted in that file. Deep breath." I take a painful breath, not full lung capacity. "I'd like to get x-rays to be sure, but you've got at least 2 broken ribs. Do you know what to do?"

       "I've had a few before. It's fine. Can't believe they'd take out my most defining characteristic. Bruce, I'm 80% deaf."

       "I never would have guessed that, does explain the accent though. Leg up." He looks surprised, but not upset or condescending. Its good.

       "I have a tendency to sound as deaf as I am when I'm not paying attention." I maneuver my leg onto the table and Bruce starts on the laces of my boot. "Thanks, so yeah. That's why my voice is messed up, don't really hear things right. Even with my hearing aids."

       "Bet that was hard on your parents too, raising a hard of hearing child?" Not what I was expecting.

       "They didn't even try. Lost it when I was like 4 so...meh." Bad habit of mine, I just make up noises sometimes when I don't have words to fill the void. "S' why last year I only lost stuff I'd learned mostly before I went deaf, something about double damage."

       "I'm sorry, that's horrible." Bruce looks...like he understands. And he doesn't ask how it happened, which leads me to believe I don't need to tell him, he figured it out on his own with the hints I gave him. "How's this feel?" He slowly bends my knee.

       "Hurts, but its nothing I haven't had before." Its true. Nothing is broken, but it does hurt like a bitch.

       "I think you probably just badly sprained your knee. I'll wrap it up for you but SHIELD is probably better. You need to stay off of it."

      " 'ma try to avoid them for a while." Okay, yeah lets focus on talking like an adult again. "Kind of broke their air ship." Bruce chuckles, or at least I think he does.

     "Don't worry. I broke some of it too. How'd you walk on this?"

       "Practice."


	29. Just a day later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, I feel really bad about the wait...really really bad

          It takes 24 hours for the rest of them to find out about my hearing. It's not exactly like I actively keep it a secret, its fairly obvious to an observant person, especially if I'm wearing my good hearing aids and not the little ones.

         Nat got my spares for me while Bruce was patching me and Tony up (and after I made her sit down and get her forehead stitched up), and after 15 hours unconscious I felt a lot more human. Not to say my leg felt any better, or it was any less painful to breath, but with the addition of a good brace, I'm able to walk around without too much issue.

        Tony corners me in the kitchen area. "All fixed up as far as ears go?" He obscures his mouth slightly, testing me. I'm liking this guy more and more.

        "Yup, got my good ones now." I pour myself a cup of coffee. "Got background cancellation and everything." My big ones work so much better than my small comm enabled ones.

       "Oh, fancy." He sticks a cup into the microwave.

\----

       The next is Steve, which is funny, because its like as soon as I talk he knows.

       "So, SHIELD takes care of their guys if they get blown up?" He's nice about it, and its not like I've never gotten that question before.

       "If you mean my ears, then no. I was like this when they got me." I shrug my shoulders and go back to lightly stretching, avoiding moving my chest too much because I'd like to avoid a punctured lung from one of my rib pieces shifting.

       "Oh I uh. I didn't know they let guys...uh like you in. I mean not that. Shit. I'm being weird." He goes back to destroying the heavy bag.

       "Nah, its cool, I get what you mean. And yeah normally, if I'd applied and gone through the academy, there's no way I would have made it. But SHIELD has a list...its fairly extensive and its of people with very good skills. I ended up on that list at an age that most people aren't even close to the radar. I got arrested, and...they took custody and now I'm here."

       "Wow, that's...different." Steve looks genuinely surprised.

       "It was. Is. But, its my life now and I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

\------

       Tony is a fixer, that makes sense to me. He offers upgrades to new hearing aids, even asks for my input on the design. The rough sketch and numbers he comes up with look amazing and I'm actually excited to see what he comes up with. The idea of sound that's even better than my over ears? That is something that I haven't ever really thought of.

       "So, do you sign?" I nod and Tony slides a screen away to open another one. "Cool, me and Pepper have been looking for another language. Kind of a bonding thing, you know? And if we know someone...well A: you could help me study? She's a lot better with languages than me and B) it might be a good idea. Would it make anything easier?" Only Nat ever learned for me.

       "It uh...it does. Really it does, I'm pretty good, one on one, but...yeah it helps. And yeah, I could teach you, Nat knows too, so...she could." Why would he even offer? Why would he even ask? Its not something people do, but I also haven't met many 'fixer' type personalities. Except maybe the lady who wrote on my hand. She was a fixer too.

\-------

       Thor is incredibly loud, but...he's hard to understand. Harder than nearly anyone I've ever met, it's like his words don't match his face. His expressions are off and he's nearly impossible to lip read. Luckily he doesn't confront me about it, honestly I'd probably just walk away, he asks Natasha though and she tells me about it afterwards. She told him I have a human problem, and he understood. Like I couldn't.


	30. A week after last

          SHIELD shows up a week later to take me. Fury only sends 2 guys so he's obviously not expecting resistance. And I don't give any.

          Interrogation is fun. Luckily my ribs are starting to knit together to the water doesn't completely knock me out. They just hurt like a bitch.

          Sitwell forgot again. My hearing aids aren't waterproof.


	31. 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally out of 27

       I am 28 years old and it has been 24 years since I heard a voice through ears that didn't tech stuck in them. I spent 13 years as a practically mute deaf kid, who thought he was mentally challenged. And who knows? Maybe I am and this is just...me coping with that. Creating this person that I am, or that I hope I really am.

      I may act like I'm okay with what happened to me, and most of the time I am, to an extent anyways. But then again, I'm not. I've always been the weird kid, never really fit it anywhere, not even a circus, where weird people are supposed to fit in. That's how the Avengers are different. They're like a larger group of Natasha's. People who just don't care. People who don't comment on how some of my words don't sound quite right to them. Tony and Steve are both learning ASL, getting really good at it too. And Bruce, that sneaky bastard, already knew. Tony managed to make slightly better ears for me, one's that went in my ears for missions and other ones that are so much smaller, but go outside of my ears, just barely sit on the edge. No more batteries, which is a very good thing.

     And if one morning I wake up and can't talk in English? Well at least they talk with their hands now too.

     Its an anxiety attack. Figured out a few hours later, after a short nap that I wake up screaming from. Loki fucked me up. Messed with my brain, and it seems to have...messed up what was already fucked up. I lost control under him, he took it from me, and when I panic over that happening I loose control of my voice.

     _Language issue_. I sign to Nat once my fingers stop shaking.


	32. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm not dead? Guess who else isn't?
> 
> This chapter has sections of dialog written in phonetic spelling. AKA what you read is how my version of clint's voice sounds in my head while i'm writing this. If anyone has an issue with it or cannot understand it I will go back and leave an end note with the original text.
> 
> This is non edited from my original copy that I wrote in high school...and the rest of the fic will be up soon, hopefully tonight so I can close this story once and for all.

Barney's alive.

     He's in my living room, alive…just standing there like I didn't bury him years ago. He waves that little 'hello' that he used to do, it can't be an imposter…no one else waves like that.

     "You're supposed to be dead." I slur pretty badly, feel the double 's' whistle and the 'r' disappear but at least it probably makes sense.

     "You talk?" Right, he only knew me when I was stupid mute.

     "Yeah. Normally better than this. Sorry." I'm tripping over letters, missing spaces. _Barney is alive._

       "Clint…wow. Okay I figured this would be easier but…shit." He runs his hands over his face.

       "Bahney, why the fukh aenhnt you dead?" Well hello there speech impediment, nice to see you. "Sorhy speeach 'pediment acthin' uph." Fucking hell, really? Thanks anxiety for making my normally screwy voice even worse, its been awhile since I spoke this fucked up.

       "You talk, and I can mostly understand you. I don't care what the hell your voice sounds like." His eyes are wide. "I'm not dead, that coffin was empty, faked my death, was on the run from the guys we used to run with. You remember them?" Right, he thinks I'm stupid.

       "Yeh, couse Ih d'" _Still? Really?_ " 'm noht 'tahded. Deahf."

       "Oh. Um…does it help if I talk louder?" I shake my head no. "So, when dad…he broke your ears not your brain?" I nod. "We thought…me and mom, we thought that he made you stupid."

       "S'okayh." There's a beep from my hearing aids, the Bluetooth feature telling me I have a text message on my phone, but its not high priority, like the incessant beeping of the assemble call. I can ignore it for now, this is much more important. "He dihd kihn 'a bwake myh head, bwoke 'da bones inh ma eahs 'an a littleh biht 'a ma bwain for friehd toh." Seriously, mouth needs to start working now. "Nohmly I dohn'ta sluhr so mush." Natasha is going to kill Barney if him being here does this to me.

       "How bad…is it? Your… hearing loss?" He wants to know if I lip read or hear him a little bit. I swallow, bit my cheek to try and reset my mouth, calm the pounding in my chest down so I can speak.

       " 'bout 80%." Percent is slurred but not nearly as bad as it could be.

       "Still there?" He looks hopeful.

       "Gone. Both eahs, got heahin aihds though." Still messed up, but not as much, just missing some sounds now, I can feel it on my tongue. "Seeh?" I tap on my ear when I turn my head, the little purple wire nestles inside to pick up the sounds.

       "Yeah, that’s good, right? I mean, it looks like you're doing okay? Apartment and everything." Wonder what he'd say if he knew I was the landlord.

       "Tanks. I uh…work fohr 'da govehment." I shrug and look him over fully. He's still bigger than me, broader shoulders despite my own muscle tone. He looks good, for a dead guy.

       "Wow, that’s…that's great Clint. I-I'm sorry, this is weird. I'm standing here…talking-with-not at you. I never thought this'd happen." He scrubs his hands over his face again, smiling despite himself.

       "Makesh youh feel betteh, I'm 'bout one goodh scarhe frohm 'zietey tack." I'm still not 100% after Loki, and honestly I don't know if I ever will be, but I'm doing better, enough so that I'm not grounded anymore. 'Proly whyh ma voice is fuckhin uhp moe." I give up, I'll work it out later, since apparently right now my brain wants to play its favorite game of near aphasia.

       "Yeah. Guess that does help a little." He chuckles.

       "You hungy?" I'm speak signing before I realize it, adding that extra layer I'm used to with those close to me now, so they can understand me better and vice versa.

       "Uh, sure." His eyes flick down to my hands for a second, like he knows the movements mean something.

       "Pizzah?" He nods and I grab my keys, shoving my phone and wallet into my pocket. "I'll dhive."


	33. Semya (Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short and with a dash of anger

      Nat's upset with me. She showed up at my apartment soaking wet and expecting only me to be there (it probably didn't help my case at all that the first thing I say is so slurred she asks if I hit my head again). Its pouring rain outside and her arm is bleeding, like bad road rash.

     "Clint, who the hell is that?" She's glaring at Barney.

     "Dead brother." Her eyebrows raise up and I repeat myself, over enunciating the 'r' sounds so she'll stop looking at me like a disappointed mom.

     "Are you okay?" She knows more about me than anyone else, maybe even the other man in the room. Scratch that, she does. Barney may be blood, but Nat is family.

     "Yeah, I'm fine. Just being lazy." I shrug and see Barney move out the corner of my eye.

     "Well stop it. You sound deaf."

     "I am?" I roll my eyes and walk to grab a towel from the cabinet for her. "You staying?" I try not to slur for her sake.

     "Yes." So shorts and a T-shirt as well. My basketball shorts will fit her if she tightens the drawstring all the way. "You keep talking like that and you're going to end up back in speech therapy."

     "No I am not." She likes to try, but she doesn't know how little I actually care what I sound like. If it wasn't for the requirement of field assets to be able to give verbal briefings, I'd sound a lot worse simply because to me? It all sounds the same for the most part.

       "You still sound worse than normal." Fuck this, fuck all of it.

       "Nat, its not a language issue. Just…speech issue is acting up." That doesn't negate the frustration though.

       "Sorry." She adds the sign for it to as a placement and I chuckle (a truly ugly noise).

       "Its cool. You want to shower?" I hold out the towel and the cloths for her.

       "Oh god yes."


	34. 28: Morning coffee

I have this habit of not actually wearing my hearing aids if I'm home alone, or not turning them on unless I'm doing something that requires me to notice when people are talking, even if I can't understand what they're saying. With Barney here, and Natasha not exactly thrilled with his return from the dead, it makes life a bit interesting. Especially considering Nat and me have a language basically our own, looks and shifts in stance, ASL to convey more complicated things. Barney doesn't really remember much, the letters and maybe a few words, and then our little bit of home sign that mostly made sense back then.

     I can tell their talking, my brother looking exasperated and Natasha as calm as she is behind a gun with her finger on the trigger. They know I'm standing there, but the angles are wrong so I can't read their lips and I'm out of context anyways. Natasha's neck gets nailed by a paperclip I see laying on the table and she turns toward me, knowing it had to come from me. I vaguely wonder if Barney still has all his aim too.

     _'What?'_ She signs, making an effort to include all three of us in the conversation.

       ' _Stop arguing. No murder here_.' I grab a coffee cup and look back towards them (always at hand first now).

       ' _Your brother is an asshole.'_ I pour my coffee and take a long sip before setting the cup down to reply.

       _'I'm an asshole, must be a family trait.'_

 _'Go put your ears on._ ' A quick glance at Barney shows he's confused but not as much as I expected him to be. I pretend to ponder it for a second while sipping my coffee.

       "Nah." That…probably sounded like a drunken cat.

       ' _Clint_.' She pauses for a split second. _'Phone is ringing_.' I look at her with an expression that asks if she can answer if and I give in, just in case its Kate or something. She picks up the corded receiver and watches me as I disappear into my room and come back seconds later, fiddling with my ear molds.

       "Tennant in 3B, says his water heater is out." She quickly informs me once I set the remote down.

       "I'll fix it soon, damn things been trying to blow for months. Nat smiles when I talk, obviously pleased with the pronunciation of the words.

       "I'll let him know. Thank you, by the way, I know you don't like wearing your hearing aids sometimes but its hard to communicate sometimes, it's like speaking Polish." She never particularly liked signing, even if she did learn it.

       "Nat, I know you don't like ASL, but at least we have it. Hell at least we have English, I didn't have a language for years, and Barney had to deal with that. Our communication issues are nothing in comparison."

       "I know Clint, I know. And I also know that I do understand that, and that I do know what's it like to look at you and know that you aren't comprehending anything that I'm saying." She does know.

       "Speaking of issues, I should probably explain those to Barney." Feedback-ow ow-bad.

       "That's probably a good idea."

\----

 

       Barney's looking at the wooden recurve bow mounted on the wall. "You still any good?" He raises an eyebrow questioningly, and it takes me a second to realize that I haven't had to ask him to look at me when he talks, he just…does.

       "Please. I'm the best." Its not gloating.

       "Really? There a range in this town anywhere? Wanna prove that you still hold that title?" Barney wasn't nearly as good as me, but he was far from bad. It simply takes perfection to be The Amazing Hawkeye.

       "Yeah, I'll have to kick your ass there later, but right now there's something I need to talk to you about." I flop down on the worn out couch. "I know I sound different today, so don't look at me like that. I have different issues with words depending on why, or what it is." I clear my throat. "Um, hearing issue words, r's and l's, word endings, things that sound similar. I miss the subtleties, so something's I won't be able to say things because of that. At least not how you would say them."

       "But I thought…if you had your hearing aids in, you were good?" A lot of people think that.

       "No, it doesn't work like that. I only get 60-70% of what you do, if you are facing me and speaking clearly. If there's back ground noise, or something like a mustache? That amount goes down. Hearing words are easy to identify, mostly because I think I'm saying them right. The other common one is speech issue words, and that’s just from my speech impediment, and to be honest we aren't even entirely sure what it is. Probably just standard deaf-accent thing, but…gets worse when I'm nervous or sleep deprived. Goes away a little bit with caffeine or adrenaline."

       "So if I can't understand you, then make you drink coffee?" Sense of humor: check.

       "Sometimes. Others I'm just being really lazy with how I talk or my brain is just going to fast and I can't keep up with it. Um…the last kind is bad. I told you that I've got…a little bit of brain damage right?" I know I do.

       "You eluded to it." Eh, spy. I don't do blatant very often unless I mean to.

       "Yeah, well uh…it does effect me sometimes. Not very often anymore, but it is there and…it could pop up anytime really. Its actually the reason that even right after…my English was basically gone. I have a uh…they call it a language processing disorder, and it only really affects things I learned before it happened.

       "If he wasn't already dead, I would kill that man." Natasha chimes in, squeezing my shoulder lightly.

       "There would be a line." He's dark with what he says, and I see parts of myself in him, the assassin parts, the one who can get into a bar fight and level 3 guys.

       "So yeah, language issues I don't keep to myself. I kind of freak out when that happens." Three months. That's how long its been since I lost my words from a nightmare, I'm getting there.

       "Jesus…okay yeah. Shit man, I'm your brother and I love 'ya but..this is a lot to process." Totally understand that one. "I mean, the last time I saw you was through a sniper rifle in the back of police car, thinking you'd get off because you were…fucked up. Guess I was right on the getting off part? You'd still be locked up for murder if you didn't." 25-life if Coulson hadn't wanted me. "Until yesterday the last conversation I had with you…you were 4, and I was barely 8, I spent the last 23 years thinking you were retarded." He's kind of hyperventilating.

       "I only spent the last 10 thinking that maybe I wasn't. And it wasn't your fault, the school was the first one to say that I was stupid." I shrug and Natasha gives me a look.

       "How the hell did you get off that murder charge?" Barney is playing with his coffee cup, turning and twisting it, trying to calm his own breathing down.

     "Guy named Phil saw my potential." The rest is classified.


	35. The End

       The first time the Avenger's Assemble call goes out once my brother comes back from the dead is interesting

       "Where you hurrying off to bro?" The flashing light that serves as an alert if going off, as is the beeping in my ears.

       "Remember when I said I work for the government?" Thank you mouth for working today. "Well never told you what I did. Kind of a world security guard, superhero really, not so super."

       "Fine then, don't tell me." The light stops flashing when I flick my comm on.

       "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm coming okay? Fly by in 2?" Stark is yelling at me for taking too long to suit up. "Well I was asleep you moron." I slip my arm guard on and slide the empty quiver onto my back (arrows are in the jet).

       "Who are you talking too?" At least he's not in my way as I scurry around the apartment, lacing my boots up as fast as possible.

       "Comm link. Gotta go." And I'm running up the stairs to the roof.

       ----

     And if 10 hours later I finally get back and Barney takes one look at me, cusses and slips under my arm right before my ankle gives out, then I'm not mad the TV is too loud.

     My gear is at the tower, replaced my a borrowed T-shirt and sweat pants. There's a brace on my right wrist (Bruce says fracture I say sprain), a few stitches in my back and a compression wrap on my ankle. "What the hell happened to you?" His voice makes my head pound a bit more (time for the ears to go off, I am not dealing with this right now).

       "Told you, 'ma superhero. Not 'zactly the safest job in the world." I stick my food on the coffee table and groan when I lean back, cuts and bruises making themselves known.

       "What's your name then Mr. Superhero?" Ah sarcasm, must also be a family trait.

       "Hawkeye, Imma Avenger." I flex the fingers on the injured hand, feeling the sharp stabs of pain. Okay yeah that’s probably a little bit broken (don't tell Nat, she'll take away my range access).

       "You're telling me that my deaf ass little brother is futzing Avenger? Going by his old circus name?" I'd laugh but that would probably hurt.

       "Yup. Nar's one too. Black Widow." His eyes go wide and I use my left hand to take my hearing aids out and place them on the table before closing my eyes and feeling Lucky snuggle in next to me, head shoved in my lap and asking for attention. "Good guy now."

 

 

END


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